Iona Luke is an artist of contrasts, one who possesses the broad appeal and credibility of Florence + The Machine but with the emotional intensity of PJ Harvey and a flair for drama that echoes Tori Amos. Like her hero, Patti Smith, she is eager for her music to make a fervent personal connection, yet her lyrics often explore the road less travelled, with her poetic, existential narratives enshrouded in mystique and metaphor. Just 21-years old, she is a rare proposition who writes the kind of songs that can fire her to the upper echelons of the album charts, yet with a personal-meets-oblique quality that will inspire cult-like devotion.
Iona is currently living what should be two parallel existences. In one, she’s an English Literature student in her final year at Cambridge University, where she’s working on a dissertation which explores how verse and the visceral power of music creates an immersive physicality - all the while carrying a copy of Virginia Woolf’s ‘The Room of One’s Own’ like a comfort blanket. On the other, she’s a songwriter who has already signed a publishing deal with B Unique, who might be found deep in sessions, playing to university balls, and exploring the music scenes in New Orleans, Nashville and Memphis. But they both intersect, leading to Iona maintaining a schedule that can only be described as hectic, as she regularly travels to London and beyond for sessions while maintaining her studies.
A streak of dark-hued creativity must run in the Luke family heritage. Her father wanted to be the next Jim Morrison and her mum had aspirations to be an artist too, while her parents’ first wedding dance was to the biblical-referencing gloom of Portishead’s ‘Wandering Star’. She was raised in Shepherd’s Bush to a soundtrack of Bob Dylan and The Cure, before discovering PJ Harvey, Patti Smith and Stevie Nicks, and counts English Teacher and Dry Cleaning amongst her current favourites.
Her flair for music, however, was shaped when she was fast-tracked into the Capital Children’s Choir. Her experiences with the choir varied, from providing backing vocals for Rihanna and Pixie Lott, to contributing suitably creepy child voices to horror movie soundtracks. She was even selected as one of a handful of members to work with Steve Osborne at Real World Studios.
The biggest moment came towards the end of her time with the choir, when she performed a solo verse in their cover of Lana Del Rey’s ‘Bel-Air’. Lana herself discovered it, and posted a video of her singing along with Iona on TikTok. “I used to be so anti-TikTok, I thought it was so uncool,” laughs Iona, noting that she was at the time an angst-ridden, black-lipsticked teenager. “But I saw that and cried for like three days. I felt it was a sign that I was going to be doing music for the rest of my life.”
Of course, life rarely pans out in such a linear fashion. Instead, her path was circuitous, starting when lockdown inspired this already self-accepted overthinker to dig into her emotional turmoil and relative isolation to delve far deeper into songwriting. She was accepted into The Royal Northern College of Music immediately after her first in-person audition, but was struck with a dilemma when was subsequently offered a place at Cambridge. It was an impossible decision, but after “spending six or seven months having a total existential crisis” she opted for Cambridge. Not only was it an opportunity she never imagined having, but it was also close enough to London to allow her to continue to develop her music career. While adapting to that environment wasn’t easy, she persisted, helped by B Unique accepting that it was something she needed to do.
Now Iona Luke is preparing to make a statement with her first run of releases. The contenders for her debut single vary stylistically, but they’re united by her gift for finding the sweet spot between beguiling beauty and almost gothic imagery. ‘Cowboy Boots’ is a prime example, a Tarantino-inspired murder ballad in which revenge passes through the generations, while ‘Seventeen’ addresses the panic of feeling dislocated from where you should be in life, set to a crashing cavalcade of sonic contrasts. ‘Violence’ continues that unpredictability, leaning into grandstanding Americana in a tale of escaping a relationship that possesses a dangerous magnetic allure.
As you’d expect from her background, Iona often takes intriguing conversational detours into all manner of concepts: the nature of what an artist should share with their audience and what they should hold back for themselves; the idea that striving for a broad audience is more punk than gatekeeping elitism; and an interest in applying synaesthesia to the visual aesthetic around her music. But there’s nothing complicated about her ambitions.
“In the short term I want to find an audience that likes my music and connect to what I’m saying,” she concludes. “And in the long-term, again, it’s all about reaching lots of people. Because music has had such a big effect on my life, I’m really interested to see if my music can do that for anyone else. It’s difficult to think like that, because music is a part of you, and you’re always wondering if you’re good enough to achieve that.